


Second Chances Don't Exist

by oliviathecf



Series: It Comes In Threes [2]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Incest, Kinda?, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviathecf/pseuds/oliviathecf
Summary: In that moment, Joey knew that this was the completion of years of systematic destruction. He just wondered if Slade thought it was something else.





	Second Chances Don't Exist

**Author's Note:**

> So, as I finished and posted "Every Third Thought" which is my Slade/Rose fic, I wondered "what else could I do with the concept that Slade would go so far as to have sex with his children" and this was the result. It was interesting to me to explore a character with a much different dynamic, and how things are similar vs different. In my mind, Slade is very possessive over Rose but he feels like Joey is his property.
> 
> I've tagged this as Rape/Non-Con for the consent being dubious. I also can't believe this is 3400 exactly, that's kinda wild to me haha!
> 
> I started this before Deathstroke Rebirth #21. It went...a bit differently. Of course, by this I don't mean that I expected Slade to fuck Joey. Rather, he didn't need any convincing, and his motivations are very much based in Etienne's death.
> 
> This fic relies on two headcanons. One, Slade understands ASL. Two, extended use of the Ikon Suit mixed with his own powers has changed Joey's eyes from blue to a very unnatural lime green color.
> 
> As always, heed the warnings...and enjoy!

With a soundless cry, he threw his fists forward into the solid weight of Slade’s chest. It was less calculated than the last punches, he could tell that Joey was wearing himself out, and Slade caught his fists in his hands. 

He could hold Joey’s wrists with just one, holding tight enough where he could feel the bones shift under them. He was definitely going to leave bruises on his son’s wrists, he planned on it. On leaving his mark on his boy.

Those bones creaked under his fist and Joey’s eyes squeezed shut, mouthing drawing tight before falling open.

He threw a punch at Joey’s stomach for good measure, hitting him hard. Joey’s eyes widened, mouth gaping open as the punch landed right where Slade meant it too, both in his stomach and in his ego. His eyes squeezed shut as the pain took over, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

The remnants of their fight surrounded them, pillows torn, glass broken. Joey’s house was already a mess and it had only gotten worse with their fighting. 

His gaze swept across the room, taking in the sight of the mess which was his son’s life. He thought, briefly, that it was all his fault before deciding that it was Joey’s fault for drawing away from him.

It could _never_ be his fault. He did his best to make sure his son grew up into someone to be proud of. It's not his fault that Joey screwed himself up.

However, he couldn't help the twinge of guilt he felt from putting his son through the coffee table. It was a small prickle under his skin, one that made him almost feel weak.

Almost.

Joey struggled against his grip, although that only made the bones in his wrists shift even more. His mouth was a thin, tight line.and the blood from his nose dripped down in a thicker line. Slade followed the motion of Joey’s tongue when it darted out to lick away some of the blood, mirroring the action despite the lack of blood. For a moment, Slade thought about leaning in and pressing his own tongue against those bloodied lips.

Instead, he sent another punch at his son’s stomach, holding him up by the wrists as he crumpled in on himself. Joey raised his head and unnatural green eyes met blue eye, two filled with hate and one filled with satisfaction. Slade quickly averted his eyes but he committed that _look_ to memory.

Joey looking up at him like that, through his lashes and a fallen curtain of curled blond hair, split-lipped mouth twisted into a snarl, it was something that looked good on his son. Hate seemed to make him less dangerous and, yet, more attractive. 

“You're _weak_ ,” Slade said. “It looks good on you.” He added.

The honesty made Joey’s eyes widen, made him struggle to get away from Slade even more.

In that moment, Slade thought about Isherwood and how he was the one who ruined everything. How the man had stuck his tongue down Joey’s throat. Had held his son close, _fucked_ him. Defiled his boy, defiled what was supposed to be _his_.

He no longer felt guilty about those dangerous thoughts.

Joey finally stopped struggling after a few more messy kicks, falling limp in his grip. His boy looked _defeated_ , and Slade grinned. This was how it was supposed to be.

“That's it,” Slade said. “Give up, _son_.”

He drew Joey in with those wrists, letting him collapse against the solid weight of his chest. He leaned into Slade automatically and, while he didn't release his wrists, he loosened his grip a fraction.

“You know,” He sighed. “This was for your own good.”

There was a swirl of emotion in Joey’s eyes, those eyes he was trying so hard to avoid. The unnatural green hue dulled and defeated, and he narrowed those eyes before shutting them completely. When he tried to get his wrists free once more, Slade let him, although he stayed in his personal space

If Joey tried to leave, Slade would be on him in an instant. Joey knew this as well, shoulders sagging. Instead, his hands moved in front of him.

 _Okay_ , He signed. _I know_.

Joey paused, eyes squeezing shut once more. He knew what was coming next and he had no fight left in him.

 _Dad_ , Joey signed. _I’m too old for the belt_.

Slade laughed suddenly and loudly, and Joey looked up quickly, eyes widening at the sound. He just looked even more dangerous with that sick amusement swirling in his eyes.

“Oh, _Joey_.” Slade said, voice low and rough with something that Joey didn't want to describe. “I’m not going to beat you.”

No, he had already hit his son enough. Instead, he drew him in closer. Joey’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he watched his father move, leaning down until their lips brushed together. Slade’s breath was hot as it fanned over his face and Joey flinched.

 _Pa_ , He signed. _What are you doing_?

Slade didn't speak. Instead, he tilted Joey’s face up with his hand and kissed him for real. Joey didn't kiss back, not at first. He went rigid in his father’s arms, standing completely still, not breathing. His father had stolen any breath he had in his lungs when he kissed him.

He wasn't going to stop. That much was clear, arms tightening, holding him closer. Joey’s lips were slack but he still wasn’t kissing his father back. The horror swirling deep in his stomach turning into muddled confusion which turned into deep seated lust. It burned inside of him and, when Slade’s tongue swiped at his lips, Joey drew in a shuddering breath and started to kiss him back. His lips moved tentatively against Slade’s, hand slowly coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the tight muscles there.

Slade drew back and looked Joey up and down once more. The way his cheeks flushed and the way his eyes were screwed tightly shut. The way his mouth hung open, slick and red and obscene with blood and saliva. Slade’s thumb moved up, dragging across Joey’s bottom lip just to see that scarlet blush spread further, up to his ears. When green eyes started to slide open, throwing an unnatural tinge of lime across his cheeks, Slade leaned in just a bit more to bump their noses together, before tilting and brushing their lips together once more.

Joey knew what he was doing but, at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He played right into what Slade wanted, pushing forward and kissing him hard. Slade chuckled against his mouth, tongue licking in and sliding against Joey’s own. It was a messy kiss, too much tongue and too much emotions. Slade nipped at his bottom lip, hard enough that Joey flinched, hard enough where he broke the skin again, tasting blood in his mouth.

They shared kiss after kiss, each one more like a challenge than the last. Slade challenging Joey to push back and run away, Joey challenging Slade to just do it already. Each one had too much teeth, too much blood between the both of them in numerous ways.

When Slade slid his knee in, sliding it upwards between Joey’s thighs, Joey spread his legs open to make it easier. He groaned softly when he felt the hard line of Joey’s cock against the broad expanse of his thigh, and groaned again when he felt Joey jut forward slightly, a short grind of his hips. Those eyes fluttered shut once more, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“That's it,” Slade said. “ _Son_.”

Joey winced, eyes opening a crack to really look at his father. That single, _intense_ blue eye stared him down. For a split second, Joey thought about meeting that gaze and getting out of this situation, moving Slade far enough away where he could get out. Slade ran a hand through his shaggy silver hair, pushing it out of his eye, and then moved those strong hands down to the hem of Joey’s shirt.

Joey decided against it when he raised his arms to let Slade strip him of his dirty cotton tee, letting him toss it into some filthy corner of his broken living room. It landed on the couch where he had been sleeping on with a _thump_ , unable to sleep in that bed that still smelled of Ètienne, the bed that she had shared with his _father_.

The bed he refused to share with that very same person.

Big, rough hands found his ass and squeezed, Joey’s mouth falling open. His own hands tightened around Slade’s shoulders as he was pulled in to grind against him once more. This time, he repeated the motion, the muscled leg beneath him sending shockwaves of pleasure through the pit of his stomach with each hard drag.

He felt warm, like he was burning up from the inside out. He lost his grip on Slade’s thick shoulders, scrabbling against the muscle there, nails digging into the body armor there. That fire in his veins only grew hotter when Slade ran his thumb over one his nipples.

Rather than fire, Slade’s touch on his body was _electric_. It thrilled him as much as it disgusted him and, from the smirk that spread across Slade’s face, they were in agreement.

His face grew red again and he tilted up for another kiss, feeling impossibly small as Slade looked down at him. Still, Slade kissed him once more and he hated how needy it made him feel. Like he was a child, demanding his father’s attention.

Slade tilted his chin up with his hand, tongue sliding against his bottom lip just to worry the cut there once more. To make him bleed once more, licking scarlet off of rosy pink.

Suddenly, Slade pulled back and Joey’s eyes snapped open with his confusion. He watched as Slade sat back on the couch, resisting slightly as he was tugged to sit on Slade’s lap. His thighs spread on either side of Slade’s own. 

In that moment, sitting on his father's lap, he realized two things. Just how vulnerable he felt, open and honest for his father to look at. And just how _naked_ he was compared to Slade, just in his boxers compared to that heavy body armor. The only piece of his uniform that Slade wasn't wearing was the mask, something that had been dropped just as their fight began.

And yet, despite the full armor, he realized that Slade didn't wear a cup. He could feel the hot, _huge_ length of his cock pushed up against his ass. 

_Pa_ , He signed with shaking hands. _I want_ …

He trailed off, hands stilling. He didn't know what he wanted. Whether he wanted it to stop like it should or if he wanted _more_.

Which, of course, was what he asked for, hands moving before his brain could think. Slade chuckled, hand moving up to cup at his hard cock. A long finger traced the damp spot at the front, making him shiver.

“Oh _Joey_ ,” Slade murmured. “So... _reactive_.”

Joey’s mouth gaped open and he ground down against the length of Slade’s own erection. He groaned, hands coming up to rest on his hips. He was pulled into the motion again and again, eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth gaping open.

“Do you want me to fuck you,” Slade asked. “I want to, son.”

When he nodded, he nodded quickly. Slade grinned, looking like he won a prize, and Joey supposed he did. Ultimate ownership, he was _Slade’s_ now. He was about to belong to his father in ways he never wanted to. The man that hardly raised him, the man who killed his fiancèe. He had _fucked_ her too and now he was going to fuck him. The thought was enough to make him clench his fists, and the grind of Slade’s hips against his was enough to make him lose his renewed will to fight, gripping him by the shoulder.

“I'm gonna need to lose the body armor,” Slade hissed suddenly, moaning and cutting himself off as Joey ground down into him again, “ _Christ_ , son, you're gonna need to get up.”

Joey did as he asked, reluctantly sliding off of Slade’s lap. He watched as the mercenary became the man, peeling off tight body armor. The Ikon suit was thinner than most, yet there was still some weight to it as Slade dropped pieces of it onto the floor. The final article fell and Joey’s mouth dropped open.

Slade was _big_ , but he expected as much. His cock hung thick and blood-heavy between his thighs, the tip flushed and leaking pre-cum. Joey’s mouth gaped open at the sight of it, and he swallowed the lump that stuck in his throat. 

He saw Joey staring and he _laughed_ , low and dark. Slade’s hand stroked himself, sliding from base to tip slowly. He squeezed out more precum, dribbling down onto the floor. Through the fog in his mind, Joey thought that he needed to remember to clean that off of the floor. And that he needed to clean the entire place of the memory of his father, from floor to ceiling to the spot of precum on the carpet and the boot prints by the window he entered. 

But, for now, his mouth dried at the sight of his dad’s dick. He licked his cracked, busted lip, tasting the dried blood there. It was heavy and copper on his tongue. 

In Slade’s mind, he thought that this would _finally_ make things right between them. This would solve _everything_ and that Joey had this coming to him, that it was what was supposed to happen the whole time. He would erase everyone that had come between him and what was his. Isherwood and Ètienne, and anyone else who had his son. The thought of it sent a sick thrill through him and his smirk widened just as Joey’s eyes did. 

He had enough of the foreplay, enough of tiptoeing around the inevitable. He moved over to where Joey sat and grabbed the waistband of the boxers he still wore, tearing them down his thighs and tossing them into another dirty corner of Joey’s apartment. His cock sprang forward, resting between his thighs, leaking pre-cum on the skin there. He was flushed all over, from the tips of his ears right down to the head of his dick. Slade ran a finger up, circling the head, and Joey’s lips fell open. His eyes squeezed shut and he rolled his hips into the touch. Slade gave it one good, hard stroke before dropping it into the shiny smear of pre-cum on his leg

“Turn,” Slade murmured. “Stomach over the arm of the couch, ass out.”

It was finally coming down to this. Joey swallowed thickly and did what his dad asked. He braced himself over the arm of the couch, hands gripping tightly at it. From here, he couldn’t see Slade, couldn’t see what he was planning on doing. Huge hands grabbed his ass, massaging it before parting it. Slade chuckled once, hot breath puffing over his sensitive hole and Joey tensed just in time to feel his tongue slide against it.

His eyes widened, back going taut as his father’s tongue circled around the rim of his ass. Joey’s grip tightened on the couch and he turned back to look at Slade. Isherwood had never done this to him, he had never felt anything like _this_. Slade seemed to know what he was doing, however, tongue slipping in past the rim just slightly before moving out to swirl around his hole once more. Joey’s tongue lolled out, panting hard at the feeling.

There was no way that it would ever be wet enough. Slade knew this, Joey knew this. And, yet, Slade’s finger started to tease at his hole. When one of them slid in alongside that damned tongue, Joey tensed up. It was just one finger but the thick digit felt like two without proper lubrication. Slade crooked that finger up and Joey flinched, eyes squeezing shut. His head moved, forehead resting against the arm of the chair, and Slade made a noise in the back of his throat.

“Tight,” Slade said, breath foggy and hot against his hole. “Too tight.” He decided.

And then, for a brief moment, he was gone. When he came back, a heat against Joey’s back, his fingers were slicker. Slade had brought lube with him, another reminder that he had _planned_ this. He had planned to fuck him, to fuck his own _son_. The very thought made Joey shiver and, when he shut his eyes once more, a tear followed them. He wiped it away with an angry hand, internally cursing himself as Slade fucked him with his fingers.

Crying was weakness. His father took any weakness and ran with it. He nearly belted Grant for weakness all those years ago, and had actually done it many times over. And, now, he was getting a different sort for his previous weakness. Slade was taking what he believed was his and Joey was starting to feel like that was the case as well. Despite it all, more tears fell from his eyes and he buried his face into the arm of the couch once more.

Those fingers pulled out of him and something far larger, far blunter, took their place. Slade only hesitated for a moment before pushing in. He groaned lowly, hands gripping Joey’s hips, and he kept pushing in until he was fully seated inside of Joey, hips flush against his ass.

“ _Shit_ ,” He hissed. “So _fucking_ tight.”

The burn was too much for him to handle. He wanted it to stop and, yet, he wanted more. God forgive him, he wanted so much more. His hands scrabbled at the arm of the couch, and his hips pushed back into it. Slade laughed behind him, grip tightening on his hips before he pulled out and thrust back in. Joey threw his head back, mouth falling open. The feeling of Slade inside of him was overwhelming and his father didn’t relent in his rhythm, cursing and growling above him. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, alongside his father’s moans, and Joey knew that neither of them were going to last too much longer.

How could he when Slade’s cock was hitting his prostate on every other thrust? Joey didn’t know how Slade got to be so _good_ at this and, before today, he didn’t care to know who his father had slept with besides his mother and Rose’s mother as well. Now he wanted to know if Slade was just good at everything or if he had practice fucking other men. The way Slade moved his hips, sending fire up his spine, he moved like an expert.

When Slade’s hand curled around his erection, stroking him once, that was enough to have him cumming. His mouth stretched open and he threw his head back, cum splashing all over his couch. The pleasure was too much for him to bear, crashing over him hard, and he slumped forward on the couch.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Slade hised. “Joey, _Christ_!”

And that was it. Slade was cumming inside of him after just a few more hard thrusts, splashing hot inside of him. Like he was burning Joey from the inside out. It made him shiver, made him push back into it despite every tired limb screaming at him for it. Slade fucked him through his own orgasm, panting harshly. He dropped a kiss that felt like an afterthought between his shoulder blades before pulling out. Joey grit his teeth at the feeling of emptiness, rolling over to face his father.

Slade looked satisfied, yet there was a darkness in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was rough and low.

“Your mom is starting a team,” He started, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he thought about how to finish his sentence. “I’m... _leading_ it and I wanted you to join.”

He grinned when Joey nodded and, in that moment, they both knew that this had been coming for years. That Joey would join Slade and they would be _together_.

And, in some sick way, it felt _right_.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, you can leave me hate (or love) at my blog on tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> [ Fic Blog ](fanfictionolivia.tumblr.com)


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